The Swallow Leaves Her Nest

THE swallow leaves her nest,
The soul my weary breast;
But therefore let the rain
On my grave
Fall pure; for why complain?
Since both will come again
O'er the wave.

The wind dead leaves and snow
Doth hurry to and fro;
And, once, a day shall break
O'er the wave,
When a storm of ghosts shall shake
The dead, until they wake
In the grave.

by Thomas Lovell Beddoes

Comments (1)

as swallow leaves nest, soul leaves weary breast Robust romanticism when he wishes let it rain fall pure on his grave.